


Whole

by kokuchim



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Angst, M/M, Offscreen Violence, Pre-Slash, There is something there if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 22:32:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1795606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kokuchim/pseuds/kokuchim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yamamoto washes his hands in desperation and Gokudera wonders why he wasn't the one who had to pull the trigger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whole

Gokudera looked at the Japanese boy with forlorn as he tried to wash his hands in frenzy. His eyes were frantic and empty, the little mischievous gleam was gone. He suddenly felt the intense need to hit a wall.

Who was he to say that everything was going to be okay after that? Nothing was ever going to be fucking okay anymore. Everything changes. It's not the same. It never is nor will it ever even be again.

He wasn't stupid enough to give the idiot false hope when there was none. It had to be done. The Tenth's life was in danger. Frankly he'd have pulled the trigger himself. Rather, he'd wanted to have pulled the trigger rather than him. He's lost the pity for his enemies a long time ago. He'd have felt no remorse for doing it. But Yamamoto did.

Then again, he'd had a long time to cope with the sins he's committed than Yamamoto had. And by god he had done far worse than just shooting someone in the head. That was for sissies.

 _You're lying._ Shut Up.

Still there was silence. Stupid,  _suffocating_ silence. The only sound that could be heard was the gush of running water in the bathroom.

"I'll be fine 'Dera. There's just this little speck of dirt I can't seem to get off. Don't worry about me" Yamamoto says quietly.

Fucking liar.

There wasn't any dirt on his hands at all. The bastard's in denial. He told the Reborn a long time ago he wasn't fit to be a Mafioso. Some perfect assassin this baseball freak was. Even the fucking lawn head in his rare moments of clarity knew that this,  _this_  wasn't a game. He'd had shivers gone up and down his spine when Ryohei merely nodded his head in understanding.

_You tried to wash your hands too, in Sicily eight years ago._

But I knew they wouldn't come off. It didn't hurt to try though.

He walks calmly into the bathroom and closed the faucet. He looked at the raven-haired boy with the grin on his face. It wasn't even a real smile. He grips the handle hard enough so he wouldn't punch the man.

"You're scrubbing your hands raw. There is no dirt." He says quietly.

"Yes there is 'Dera, now if you could just let me finish washing my hands then I could—"

He hated this. He hated the fact he had to see the baseball idiot this way. He didn't have to join or to pretend this was a game.  _Goddamn it!_

"The blood will still be there. You can't wash it away."

It can't be washed away. He tried that the first time he blew a building up eight years ago. It was his first hit job and he'd done it perfectly. The timing was impeccable and the bargained  _gift_  of the Don Assanti's ring finger was wrapped neatly in a box and sent to his client. He got a large amount of money for it but he felt like a part of him died that day.

He needed a smoke.

As if a gear just clicked into place, Yamamoto's expression changes gradually. His smile disappeared and he looked to be in so much pain. "I was just kidding. I knew that. Haa Haa…" he says as he slinks down to the bathroom floor grabbing his hair in tight fists. Gokudera's eyes widen as he hears a choked sob from the taller man.

Sitting down next to him he cocks a cigarette out of his pocket and lights it. He closes his eyes as he took a lengthy drag from it, the sobs of the swordsman echoing throughout the bathroom.

"I'm sorry 'Dera, I'm so weak. Ha-ha. I'll be fine in a while, I'll be fine so—"

"Fucking idiot, take as long as you want. No one's rushing you. "

A bitter chuckle emanated from the heaving body of the samurai at Gokudera's response.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

The sobbing goes on for a while. Gokudera couldn't blame him.  _Cant._

If he didn't do it they'd all be dead. But he'd have given anything so that he wouldn't have to experience this. But that was impossible. This was the mafia. The asshole's death just sealed the deal. He was one of them now, whether he liked it or not.

Maybe he had been from the beginning.

"I-I've known for a long time that this wasn't a game. I just didn't want anybody to worry about me." Yamamoto admits quietly.

Gokudera merely hums his response and shifts his back so he'd lean against the wall next to the sink. White wall huh? Fucking Ironic.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

A few minutes later, the sobbing subsides and a figure sits with his back against to the wall as well. He spares a glance towards the man and sees that red, puffy eyes and an exhausted expression.

"I feel dirty."

"You'll always do, you just have to find something to make the burden easier to bear" Gokudera admits, smoke escaping through his thin lips.

"Is that why you smoke a lot?" the rain guardian asks in an attempt to banter. It didn't work. They sat in complete silence for a while and Gokudera lights another cigarette to replace his last one.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

"It makes me feel better, if that's what you're asking." If hurting him a little bit himself would appease his conscience he'd smoke as much cigarettes as he wants.

"But isn't ironic that it hurts you as well?"

"So is killing people" Gokudera says irritably.

Yamamoto's eyes harden and Gokudera felt like shooting himself. He was never one for putting things delicately. But he had meant every word he said.

"Why are you helping me?" Yamamoto asks after a long pause.

'Cause I didn't want you to be alone.

Not that he'd say that.

Out loud.

To Yamamoto.

Especially not to Yamamoto.

His head would probably explode.

Yeah that's right.

"Who knew what you would have fucking done in desperation. If you died the Tenth would have been disappointed at me!"

Yamamoto looks at him furtively and he hopes he didn't look like he was lying. He wasn't lying. Mostly.

"Thanks Hayato."

"Hmm" he replies as he takes a long drag again. He hopes his cheeks weren't turning red. They felt like they were burning. Why did the idiot have to say his first name in the first place? It wasn't like they were that close. _But it felt nice._

"Takeshi."

"What?"

"Call me that. "

Gokudera cocks an eyebrow at the taller man and fights the urge not to smirk.

"Tch, whatever Takeshi," he says before taking a drag again.

And Yamamoto smiles.

And Gokudera would swear his heart did  _not_  skip a beat.

And they would banter. And they will fight. And they'll never be the same. Never be normal. But who was anymore?

They were broken.

But maybe broken people could be whole again.

Maybe.

It couldn't hurt to try.

**Author's Note:**

> I've noticed a pattern. I can't write these two without putting them into shitty situations. Hahaha! Oh well!


End file.
